


Always

by often_adamanta



Series: Time Universe [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-13
Updated: 2008-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/often_adamanta/pseuds/often_adamanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Beta'd by <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_violettefemme"><a href="http://violettefemme.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://violettefemme.livejournal.com/"><b>violettefemme</b></a></span></p>
    </blockquote>





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [](http://violettefemme.livejournal.com/profile)[**violettefemme**](http://violettefemme.livejournal.com/)

He leaves the bedroom window open in the summer, even though the heat is almost too much to endure and makes sleeping far more difficult. It is wishful thinking, a hope that should have been worn down to nothing in the intervening years, decades, since the summer Orlando spent with him. Every year he promises himself that it will be the last time he does this, and every year he breaks that promise and opens the window.

An effort in futility, no doubt, but he cannot help himself.

He is sitting on the front porch in a rocker, enjoying the slightly cooler air of the night. Eventually it is too dark for him to see much of anything, so he pulls pushes himself up with help from his cane and goes to the door.

A tingle of awareness runs down his spine. He turns as fast as he is able and finds his heart stuck in his throat at the sight of Orlando standing in the dim porch light like some distant shade from his past. He blinks, twice, but the image doesn't fade away like the product of an overactive imagination, doesn't turn mocking and hurtful like the bitter nightmares of his youth. Instead, Orlando steps forward, more clearly illuminated now, watching.

Only Elijah is not much to look at these days, he knows, and finds himself scowling, angry and jealous at that beautiful face that hasn't aged a day. "Oh. It's you," he snaps out. Orlando looks taken aback for a second before his features fall back into the usual, composed shield. "Well, come in, then." He thinks, inanely, that he wouldn't have left the damn window open if he'd known Orlando was going to waltz back in through the front door.

They move slowly into the kitchen, and he keeps flicking glances at Orlando, both to look for pity, which will get him kicked right back out into the night, and to make sure that he's really there. It seems unreal, after so many years of waiting.

"Sit, boy," he says briskly, pointing his cane toward one of the rickety kitchen chairs.

"Boy," Orlando repeats, slow and amused, but he sits. That one word twists up his spine. His voice hasn't changed either, dark and rich. "I'm still much older than you, I'll have you know."

Elijah pauses in his coffee making and shoots Orlando an unimpressed look. "You may be older, but I've grown old and earned the right to say whatever I goddamn please."

Orlando laughs. "Like you ever did anything else," he says, dark eyes going soft for a moment, remembering.

Elijah clicks his mug down onto the table top, and those eyes refocus on him.

"Why are you here?" Elijah asks after a scalding mouthful and a minute of silence. A peculiar expression bleeds onto Orlando's face. "Ah," he says and looks down into his coffee. "You know that I'm dying."

There's a pause. "I can smell it," Orlando finally says, which is more of a concession than it seems since Orlando hates to talk about being a vampire. Elijah leans back in his chair and considers Orlando. The question of what death smells like almost trips off his tongue, but he bites it back down. He knows Orlando won't want to discuss it and expects the answer to be unpleasant, in which case he does not want to apologize for something that is far beyond his control.

"Liver's giving out," he says instead. "Too many vodka gimlets when I was younger, I guess."

Orlando's mouth curls slightly at that. "I couldn't stay away, once I knew."

"I can't see why," Elijah says, tone purposely bland, "when you have had so much practice."

Orlando flinches. "Elijah..." he says, and Elijah's eyes close for a moment at the sound of his name in that voice. "I couldn't stay, Elijah. I couldn't."

"I know. Of course I know. Do you think I'm a moron? I've given it some thought." Orlando couldn't stay in one place, not if he was going to remain undetected, he knew that. "But you could have asked me to go with you!"

Orlando looks away. "We wouldn't have worked out."

Elijah snorts. "Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"I had hoped," Orlando continues, as if he hadn't spoken, "that you would find someone else."

"Bullshit," Elijah snaps. "If you'd really wanted me to move on, you would have stayed away, not come back summer after summer to spy on me for a night or two and then vanish again."

Orlando pushes back in his chair and actually blanches, he's so shocked. "You knew..." he breathes, and looks as shaken as Elijah had ever seen him.

"I always knew when you were watching me," he says, almost gently. "Always."

"I was afraid." Orlando whispers, just barely loud enough for him to hear. "I was afraid that... I'd turn you. To keep you with me. And I couldn't, wouldn't, allow that." He reaches out, takes Elijah's hand in his, the first time they'd touched in years and years, and Elijah finds himself damnably close to tears. "I care for you far too much to do that to you."

"But why did you come?" Elijah asks, finding his anger draining away after that confidence.

"I just wanted to be with you again."

Elijah looked at their clasped hands, his own wrinkled and disgusting next to Orlando's young, beautiful skin. "I'm not you, Orlando," he says at last. "I've changed."

"Yes," Orlando agrees. "You've grown strong and beautiful."

"I know exactly what I look like!" Elijah hisses, attempting to pull his hand away, but Orlando doesn't let go.

"I wasn't talking about your appearance," Orlando says and seems amused. "I just... Let me stay the night with you?"

"Fine." Elijah rises and makes his way into the bedroom, both doubtful and pleased. He puts on his pajama pants and climbs into bed, carefully not looking at Orlando's reaction to his frail body.

Orlando's weight makes the bed dip, and then strong arms come around him, pulling him close. He grabs one of Orlando's arms and squeezes just to make sure that he's not dreaming, not going to wake alone and find the body around his is nothing more than sleep and old memories.

"Don't leave," he whispers, a deep despair from being so alone, a feeling he'd hardly let himself notice, ringing in his voice. "Please. Stay with me."

"Always," Orlando replies immediately, arms tightening. "I'm never leaving you again." He kisses the side of Elijah's neck. "You can tell me to stop. Do you remember?"

"I remember everything," Elijah says, heart beating up a notch as he realizes what Orlando means, and then sharp teeth slide into his neck, pain flaring and then banking, twisting into something far sweeter.

Oh, and he'd been lying, because he obviously hadn't remembered everything, hadn't remembered how good this was. They'd only done this without sex a handful of times, and the intensity shocks him. The reality after waiting so long shocks him because he is aware of everything at the moment, of Orlando beneath his skin pulling blood out mouthfuls at a time, strong arms wrapped around him, the sickness of his own body. He starts to shake, to shiver in the hot summer air.

Orlando's still feeding, he realizes after awhile. He has no idea how long he's been wrapped in euphoria, but he knows this feeling, just this side of dizzy, and Orlando usually stops now. He's not, though, not this time, and suddenly Elijah knows what Orlando is doing, what he meant to do from the moment he appeared on the front step, why he made sure Elijah knew that Orlando would stop, if asked.

Which begs the question, does he want Orlando to stop? Does he want to die? No, of course not, but he will. He is dying. Months, the doctors had said. Maybe a year. Maybe, but probably not. So does he want to draw out the last drops of his life in pain and weakness? Or does he want to let go now, in Orlando's arms, with pleasure soaking through his brain? Does he want to give his life to Orlando?

Put that way, it isn't even a question. He's already given his life to Orlando.

He sags back, relaxing completely in surrender and perhaps the beginning stages of severe blood loss, neck exposed even more to Orlando, who pushes deeper. He knows that should hurt but instead it just ratchets everything a little higher. The dizziness gets worse, and he lets his eyes fall shut, blackness moving in until all that's left is pleasure and Orlando's arms wrapped tight around him, and then even that fades away.

*

Orlando stirs from his rest, sated and warm, still clutching his lover. He knows without opening his eyes that it is a few hours till dawn. He has time, then, to decide what to do, whether or not to stay here and greet the approaching dawn with Elijah or to break his promise and leave.

He imagines the dawn through Elijah's open bedroom window and settles back down.

He'll choose soon enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at livejournal [here](http://often-adamanta.livejournal.com/196492.html).


End file.
